


141 - Cute Meet 'Cause of The Streets

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, F/M, Reader-Insert, body pos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 10:32:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17405282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “something where the protagonist also has a stutter?” and “Van met the reader waiting in a Merch line at a streets concert before he buys that one hoodie that we’ve seen him in.”





	141 - Cute Meet 'Cause of The Streets

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t write what I don’t know. I don’t have a stutter, but my little brother did for a long time before he had speech therapy. So, I’m going to draw on that experience for this fic. If even a single person finds it misrepresentative, or offence, I will delete it. Also, Van got that hoodie when he was, like, very smol very young. But let’s pretend it happened when he was about 21 or so, yeah?

You pointed at the merch table after Jocelyn said she was going to the bathroom. "Yep. Meet at our spot on the corner?" she asked. You nodded and walked off to join the line. 

The Streets had performed, and it was fucking mayhem. They're a divisive type of band; you either love them with all your heart or think they're a load of untalented wank. Obviously, everyone at the show thought the former, therefore the gig erupted in alcohol-fuelled sing alongs and weird mosh-dance hybrid movements. People were drenched in sweat, and still yelling lyrics in accents that either were completely put on or were an exaggeration of their own. 

The boy in front of you in the line bounced from foot to foot. A bottle was smashed somewhere near the bar, and everyone in line turned to look. After assessing the situation, they went back to their post-show conversations. All but the bouncing boy returned to face the merch table. He grinned at you and you smiled back. He was happiness personified. He was bright eyes and dimples and sweaty, glowy skin.

"Fucking genius right?" he asked, beaming. You nodded. "Just… utter class. Fuck!" His bouncing turned into jumping on the spot, and he shook out his hands. "Dying for a smoke, though. That was easily the best gig I've ever been to. Christ!" He spoke fast and you watched in awe as his eyes flicked from place to place in the room. "And look!" He unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket; the set list. You nodded at it, smiling again, laughing a little. His shaking hands carefully refolded it and he put it safely away. "Was it good for you? Did you love it?" You waited for him to start talking again. All his other questions were rhetorical, after all, and he'd not really paused to let you reply. But when he didn't speak again, you figured you'd better say something. You took a breath in, and hoped for the best but expected the worse.

There was too much adrenaline pumping through you. Hyped up and off the charts happy, you knew you'd hardly get a full word out. You winced as soon as you started to speak. His smile didn't fade as you did, though.

"Y-yep. La-lah-loved it," you said. He nodded.

"You loved it because it's the best show you've ever been to, too. Nobody in this fuckin' room will ever see genius like that again." Hyperbole, probably, but charming in its delivery. "I'm Van, by the way," he introduced with a hand out. You shook, in love with the formality of the act in a sea of complete chaos and mess.

"Y/N," you said in one go. There was a twinkle in Van's eye as he asked you what you were going to buy. You shrugged in reply. You watched him buy a hoodie and a shirt with the same print on it.

"Somethin' for Summer and somethin' for Winter, see," Van said over his shoulder at you with a wink, like he'd let you in on a secret. You nodded and began the difficult process of communicating what you wanted to the guy behind the table. Even without a stutter, people had to yell and repeat their orders. For you, it was torture. When you finally had your shirts, you moved to leave. Van had disappeared, and it hurt that he didn't say goodbye. You don't know him, you reminded yourself. You were prone to daydreaming up love stories about strangers that showed you any kindness. Van was added to the list. Mike Skinner's number one fanboy; the one with the pretty eyes.

The air outside was crisp and the sky was the darkest blue-black. People were hailing cabs, and walking off to catch buses and trains home. The spot on the corner you were to meet Jocelyn at was still vacant; she was inside then. You began to walk towards it when you heard your name being called. You spun around and watched Van approach. He was already wearing the new hoodie.

"Where ya headin'?"

Having space to move and clean air to breathe had helped. "Meeting my friend on the c-corner,"

"Cool. I'll wait with you? Keep ya safe," he smiled and began to walk. You followed, skipping a step to catch up. He leant against the lamp post and pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket. He offered you one, but you declined with a hand gesture. Van watched you for a second. You felt hot under his gaze, and no doubt your cheeks were going scarlet. "Don't talk much, do you?" You shrugged in reply. "Don't wanna be rude or anythin', and I'm not tryna be funny, but is it 'cause of the stutter?"

Of course he'd noticed, but the question caught you off guard. People mostly pretended to not hear it. They'd finish your sentences for you, or wait until you got it out like it was average to take so long to communicate. Van… He was direct. Very, very direct. You nodded.

"I heard people that stutter can sometimes sing normal? I mean! Not like, normal. Like, you're not… not-normal, you know? Fuck. Sorry," he spoke quickly as soon as he realised he'd fucked up. You laughed. It was entirely usual for people to misspeak like that. Use the word 'normal' for 'statistically average.'

"It's okay," you told him. He nodded and bit his bottom lip. "I c-can sing without th-the stutter,"

"Weird how that works. Music is magic, I guess."

You nodded in agreement, then jumped when hands landed on your shoulders. Jocelyn laughed, then stood by your side. She looked at Van and smirked. He returned the expression. They were mirror images in a lot of ways. Both in ripped jeans and black shirts. Dark denim jackets, and cool messy hair.

"Who's this then?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at you. You went to say his name, but the word wouldn't come out. You couldn't even start. She looked at Van. "Does your name start with a V?"

"Yeah… Van. Why?"

"She's not good with V sounds. Got a nickname?"

"Van is a nickname for my middle name. First name's Ryan," he said. R! You could do R.

"Ryan," you repeated. He nodded.

"Nobody calls me that, but. Literally nobody. I'll make an exception for you though," he said with a wink.

"And me?" Jocelyn asked, all sass.

"Maybe just stick to Van," he replied. She laughed.

"Anyway. Y/N, I'll go get the car, yeah? No need for us to both go for the walk. Van… Ryan… Whatever, can wait with you?" she asked, looking at him. He nodded happily. You looked at her with a tilted head. She took a step to stand in front of you, back to Van, blocking him from your view. "I like him," she mouthed. She acted out picking up a phone and dialling. She was telling you to get his number. You held a blank expression that told her to fuck off. She grinned and walked away.

"I like her," Van said.

"Me t-too," you replied, amused. You went to say she was a good friend but got stuck on the 'friend.' Van finished for you, and he saw the micro expression of frustration that most people missed.

"Sorry! Should I not do that? I don't… Do I help or just wait?" Again, so direct.

"Let me finish," you said. He nodded. The conversation moved slowly and found its way back to The Streets. Van could recite most of the lyrics, and then tell stories about how the songs came to be. He laughed when you asked if he ran a fan website for them.

Jocelyn pulled up and called you over. You waved and turned to Van.

"D-do you want a lift?"

"Nah, I'm good. My dad will pick me up soon. But maybe I could get your number? I just can’t believe you've not heard those demo tracks. They're class. Have to listen to them," he said. You nodded and typed your number into his phone when he handed it over. The screen was scratched, and it looked like it had been dropped a couple dozen times. When you handed it back, Van swooped you into a hug. It was one smooth motion. He was soft in the hoodie, and as you separated, you pulled the hood up around his fluffy hair. He smiled. "It was real good to meet you, Y/N,"

"Yeah. You too-" you tried for 'Van' but it wouldn't happen, "Ryan."

You climbed into the car and watched in the side mirror as Van did a weird little dance thing when he thought you couldn't see him anymore.

…

Technology was your friend. It allowed you to hold messaged conversation with Van that lasted days. From the night you met until the first date, you were essentially in constant contact. By the time you were actually in the same room again, you knew a lot about each other. Enough that you couldn't look at each other without smirking and blushing. 

You met Van in the city and had an early dinner before heading to the cinema. In the cool darkness of the theatre, Van's fingers found yours, and they nestled between each other like they'd been specially made for it.

Outside you didn't have time to awkwardly hesitate before establishing if that was the end of the date. Van immediately took your hand and began to walk off down the street. You didn't ask questions. Wherever he was going, you were too.

"So, I read some stuff online about stuttering," he said, glancing over to see if your reaction was one of approval or distaste. "Just so, you know, I know stuff. Like it might get bad if you're upset, or hyped up?" You nodded when his sentence hooked up at the end, indicating a question. "Guess that makes sense. I already know some sounds are harder than others. Like V. Lucky there aren't many important V words." You thought his name was important, and you tried to not ruminate over the fact you couldn't say it. "And you told me to not finish words for you. Is there anything else? Like, so I can help? Do you want me to tell my mum and dad before you meet them?" It was the first date and he was already thinking about bringing you home to meet the parents.

…

A few weeks later you were sitting at Mary and Bernie's kitchen table. He was arguing with them about the band again. They wanted him to be happy, but they also didn't want him to be on the dole his whole life.

"Y/N? Help me out here," he said, grinning at you. You'd been to two band practices. That's all the evidence you had of his musical talent. It was enough.

"Ryan's really g-good," you said.

Mary looked over at you. "Ryan?" She then looked at Van. "She's allowed to call you your God-given name, but I'm not?" Van smirked and shrugged.

"I c-c-can't say the sound," you said.

"V for Van. Can't do it. So she says. Guess she could be makin' it up just so she gets to be special," Van added.

"Yes, Van. Your girlfriend invented a stutter so that she could use a different name to the rest of us. Right on that one, lad," Bernie said mocking Van. He was direct, like Van, and didn't step around the word 'stutter' like it was a swear.

You liked Van's parents. You liked their home, and their tea, and the way they spoke to their son like an equal. The love was so evident in everything they did, and you wanted to be a part of that. As you hugged them goodnight, and thanked them again for dinner, Van squeezed your hand tight. In the car, heading back to Van's, he bounced happily in the driver's seat.

"Think that went well," he said.

"Me too,"

"They like you loads. Think they think you'll keep me in line,"

"I will," you confirmed. You played with the radio and looked for a song. You'd not sung in front of Van yet, but filled with potato and love, you wanted to. By some magical coincidence, Fit But You Know It was on. The second verse had begun, but you picked it up and rapped. "…waiting in the queue looking at the board wondering whether to have a burger or chips or what the shrapnel in my back pocket could afford, when I noticed you out the corner of my eye looking in my direction. Your eyes locked onto my course." Van's mouth opened in shock, and his face lit up. He began to laugh. "I couldn't concentrate on what I wanted to order, which cost me my place in the queue I waited for," and you both yelled "Yeah!" at the same time.

"Babe!"

His reaction was what you wanted. You continued and switched from rapping to singing. He joined in, and as the street lights and people flew by, you melted into a happy bubbled existence with Van.

…

Van was home. He was comfort and safety and trust. Like you were around your mum and Jocelyn, you hardly stuttered around him at all. When you were with other people, you had secret ways of communicating. You'd message each other despite being side by side. He'd developed a code of hand gestures, of which you'd sometimes mix up and cause him to get very confused. When you were alone with him and upset or tired or hyped, you would sing sentences instead of speaking. The melody healed the words and they could fall from you with clarity and precision.

More amazing than Van's proactive approach to learning about stuttering, and more amazing than his patience and practical ideas, was how proud he was of you. He was proud of you, not despite having a stutter, but because of it. You'd go out into the world and communicate and be sunshine and kindness, and he loved you for it. All the broken syllables could never change that.


End file.
